Pussy Rules

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"Mr. McKinnon, have you even read my book? Don't answer, I already know you haven't. I don't know whether I am more offended by the fact that a publisher actually saw fit to publish your book; that reputable bookstores are selling it; or that I have subjected myself to being in your presence. Your book is offensive to women in general and women of size in particular. Your book is an affront to anyone with a sense of decency, anyone with an intelligence level within shouting distance of normal, and anyone who can read. So what do you think? Do we have an agreement?"

"We're making progress. Before this show is over, you'll come over to my way of thinking."

"I hardly think so, Mr. McKinnon."

"Shari, why don't you explain to Mr. McKinnon where he is misguided."

"Opal, I would be happy to explain the errors in Mr. McKinnon's model if I thought for a second that he was serious and his book was merely misguided. He's not. He's a huckster, and anyone who has purchased his book is a victim of his scam. I'm considering referring this matter to the Attorney General for a fraud investigation, but I would be happy to recommend a class-action attorney, instead."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm not scamming anyone. My book is a bestseller."

"Your book is nothing more than a pick-up guide for desperate men. Sprinkling it with pop psychology jargon and copying the structure of a twelve-step addiction program does not elevate it above what it is: Crass merchandising directed toward the lowest common denominator, a subset of subhuman men so lacking in interpersonal skills that they need coaching to overcome their fear and stupidity in order to prey upon emotionally damaged women with body-image issues. You disgust me, Mr. McKinnon. Your book disgusts me. I don't believe in censorship, but in this case I would make an exception. Your book should be banned."

"Those are strong words, Shari. Do you care to respond, Mr. McKinnon?"

"Calling names and pointing fingers doesn't help anyone, Opal. Clearly, Ms. Wainright was emotionally and psychologically abused by her former husband–"

"What are you talking about?" Shari stares at Paul.

"–who would have benefitted greatly from my book," Paul continues. "I only wish I had written it before this year. Who knows how many lives could have been improved and marriages saved if only I had spoken out sooner? Ms. Wainright obviously has a problem with my methods, but our goals are identical. We are kindred spirits."

"I don't think so, Opal. Unlike Mr. McKinnon, I have a soul. I'm not even sure that we're the same species."

"Sure we are. We have more things in common than you realize."

"Really? Name just one thing."

"We both appreciate the unique beauty of these porky princesses–"

Shari jumps out of her chair and lunges toward Paul.

"Watch your mouth, or I'll slap the stupid right off your face!"

"Bring it, bitch!"

"Composure, people!" Opal glares. "We're doing a live television show here."

"I'm sorry, Opal. This ... man ... is so ... infuriating."

"It's alright, Shari. It's OK. Why don't you explain to Mr. McKinnon why his comparison is inappropriate?

"Yes, please enlighten me."

"I would be happy to, Opal. It's really quite simple. You profess your so-called love and admiration for women of size solely because of their physical dimensions. My organization's goal is to promote acceptance of all women despite their sizes. The difference is profound."

"I see what you mean. I like to look at fat chicks. You want to make them invisible."

"No, not all. Your problem, Mr. McKinnon, is that when you look at a woman you see a size. I want people to look at a woman of any size and just see a woman."

The audience stands and applauds.

"And on that note, we'll be right back."

"Cut to commercial," a voice bellows from the corner of the stage.

Paul grasps the microphone pinned to his jacket, rips it from the collar, and turns on Shari.

"What the fuck was that all about?" he screams into her face. "Not getting enough dick since your husband dumped you?"

"Back off..." Shari warns.

"Calm down!" Opal pleads.

"I'm not calming down. You brought this hybrid cow-bitch on the show for the sole reason of provoking me. Well, it worked. I'm angry. I'm irate. Are you happy now?"

"Mr. McKinnon. Please return to your seat."

"You see, Opal? You see? This charlatan is nothing more than a beast. He's an animal. I told you this was pointless."

"The two of you planned this ... this ... ambush?"

"You were not ambushed, Mr. McKinnon. Now please, return to your seat and calm yourself down. We're going back live in one minute."

"I will not calm down. I'm not sitting down. I'm not participating another second unless and until the two of you apologize to me and you get rid of this manatee. This was supposed to be my show to promote my book."

"Mr. McKinnon, you need to understand one thing, and you need to understand it very clearly. This is my show. It's not yours–it's mine. I own it. I produce it. I'll decide who my guests are going to be, and how long they get to stay. No one ever told you that you would be the only guest. Do you follow?"

"Fuck you. Fuck both of you. God damned fat whores."

Paul turns and stomps off the stage. Opal starts to call him back, but she sees the stage manager signaling.

Five...four...three...two...one.

"Welcome back, ladies and gentleman. Well, as you can see, my first guest, author Paul McKinnon, had to leave. He was notified of a family emergency during the break–I hope everything turns out alright. No problem though, Ms. Wainright is still here to elaborate on the points she was making before the commercial. Shari, please continue."

"Thank you Opal. As I was saying, women don't need ..."

* * * *

Paul storms past security and makes his way toward the Green Room. He stops at the men's room, pushes the door open, and enters. He makes his way to the urinal, relieves his bladder, and then zips up his pants. He steps in front of the sink to wash his hands, pausing first to look in the mirror.

That was a fucking disaster. Fucking bitches ganging up on me like I'm the one who made them fat–as if it were me who fed them potato chips and ice cream by the gallon. Here I am, their biggest and most visible advocate, and they treat me like the enemy. Take some responsibility. Own your mistakes. Fat fucking whores. Women–go figure!

Paul washes his hands and then bends over the sink. He splashes some cold water onto his cheeks and forehead. He pulls some paper towels from the dispenser, folds them into a strip several layers thick, and then wets the strip under the cold water. He holds the compress against his forehead and exits the men's room.

Much to his surprise, Paul has no difficulty finding the Green Room. He reaches for the handle, turns it, and pushes the door open.

Empty. Perfect.

Paul crosses the room in four long strides. He arrives at the bar in the far corner and pours himself a glass of bourbon over ice. He reaches for a can of soda, but sets it down instead of opening it. He settles into a lounge chair, puts his feet up on the cocktail table, and relaxes for the first time in over three hours.

One drink, and then I'm gone. I don't want to be here when those fat ass sluts come in here.

With his feet up, his head back, and the cold compress resting on his forehead, Paul sips his drink. The cool liquid burns as it travels down his throat. The tension seeps from his muscles as the whiskey passes through his stomach before making its way to his bloodstream.

I suppose I should get something to eat before I drive to the hotel. Opal has a nice little spread set up on the buffet table for guests of the show. I was a guest. Problem is, I just don't feel like standing up right now.

A sixty-inch television monitor mounted on the wall is streaming the show. Paul reaches for the remote and mutes the volume.

As if I want to hear any more of those two babbling idiots.

Paul drains his glass, sets it on the coffee table, and drifts off to sleep.

* * * *

Shari pushes the door to the Green Room and finds Paul slouching in a lounge chair, his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him. She steps across the carpeted floor, making as little noise as possible. She waves her hand in front of his face, confirming that he is exactly as he appears–sound asleep. She glides over to the bar, pours herself a glass of wine, and lifts the glass to her lips. Shari drains it in two long gulps, wipes the lipstick from the rim, and then pours another. She feels light-headed as she finishes the second glass. She sets it on the bar without wiping it.

"Well, well, Mr. McKinnon," Shari whispers as she crosses the room. "What are you still doing here?"

Shari stops in front of Paul, her arms folded across her chest, and stares down at him while she considers her options. Her eyes dart toward the door and then back to Paul. She looks at her watch, looks at the door again, and then looks back at Paul.

"Mr. McKinnon." Shari nudges Paul's arm. "Mr. McKinnon."

Paul's eyes open a crack. He blinks and then wipes his forehead, knocking the compress to the floor.

"What? Where am I?" Startled, Paul shakes his head from side to side. "Oh, you. Where is everyone? Is Opal here?"

Paul opens his eyes wide and looks from side-to-side. He sees no one else in the room.

"No, she had to leave right after the taping. I'm meeting her later if you want me to give her a message."

"I have nothing to say to her. That backstabbing bitch double-crossed me."

"Look, I'm sorry for the way that went down. I assumed you knew there would be an opposing viewpoint. The staff always sends a pre-show package to with a list of guests and their biographies. You should have been prepared. Haven't you watched the show before?"

"No. Never. Why would I watch this show?"

"Well, it is the number one show in its time slot in twenty-four of the thirty largest television markets in this country. It reaches the audience your book was written for–the female half, at least."

"I'm reaching my market. I've sold nearly half a million copies in just six months. How is your book doing?"

"It's ... OK ... my numbers are a little lower than yours."

"But it's enough to pay the bills, right?"

"I have more than one book in publication, Mr. McKinnon. My latest manuscript will hit the shelves in three weeks."

"Great. What is that one about?"

"Coping with loss."

"Miss Wainright–"

"Ms. Wainright. You can call me Shari, actually."

"Shari, just let go of the pain. Forget about your ex-husband. That part of your life is over. Move on."

"I have moved on. I have a good life. My research and scholarship, and my advocacy for women are very fulfilling."

"When was the last time you got laid?"

"That's none of your business, Mr. McKinnon."

"Hey, don't bite my head off. I'm just trying to get to the root of your anger issues."

"I don't have anger issues."

"Sure you do. Your husband dumped you. You're not getting any dick. You can't lose weight, and so you take it out on the rest of the world. It's a pitiful existence, but I'm sure you think you're doing the best you can."

"You want to know something, Mr. McKinnon? I'm really getting tired of men thinking that I'm something to be pitied."

"Then do something about it. Go out and get fucked. You're attractive enough. Somebody would do you. You'll feel much better about yourself."

"Men–you're all alike. You think the answer to all of life's problems is that magical little piece of flesh tucked inside your pants."

"It works for me. Try it. It'll take that jagged edge off and make you a little more pleasant to be around. Right now you're driving men away the second you open your mouth."

Shari snarls through clenched teeth. "You disgust me, Mr. McKinnon."

"Please, call me Paul. Mr. McKinnon is my father."

"Don't interrupt me. You are a vile miscreant. I'm offended to be in your presence. I imagine your behavior was cultivated by your father's attitude toward your mother. What do your parents think about your so-called book? Is your father proud of you? How about your mother? Is she permitted to express an opinion of her own?"

"Look, lady, you obviously have a problem with me. I get that, but please leave my parents out of this. I suggest you loosen your bra strap, take a deep breath, and relax a little. Right now, I don't think the oxygen is reaching your brain."

"Mr. McKinnon–"

"Everywhere I go, women appreciate what I'm doing. I'm making it cool for guys to go after fat chicks like you. I–"

"A real man doesn't need your approval to approach a woman of size."

"Oh please, cut the crap with this 'women of size' bullshit. You're fat. Your friends are fat. Your mother was fat, and if you have sister, she's fat, too. Some of you are chubby, some are obese, some are plump, and some are full-blown heifers. 'Women of size' is the stupidest fucking verbal nonsense I've heard in my entire life."

"Mr. McKinnon," Shari says in slow, even syllables as she kicks off her shoes. "I've heard more than enough of your mouth."

"Seriously? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to shut it for you."

"Is that a threat?"

"I don't threaten, Mr. McKinnon. I'm a teacher and a scholar, not a thug. This is a teachable moment. It's time that I teach you some respect."

Shari takes two steps toward Paul and then lunges at him. Her hands close around his neck, but the momentum of her 250-pound body crashing into his seated form causes the chair to topple backward. Paul's head strikes the floor with a dull thud. His vision goes black, and then nothing.

* * * *

Paul's eyes flicker open. He sees a dingy suspended ceiling and harsh recessed lights. He glances to his left and to his right while trying to gain some perspective, but sees only furniture legs and the underside of a coffee table.I'm on the floor.He tries to stand up, but discovers that his arms and legs are restrained. He tugs at the bindings trussing his arms above his head, but they hold fast. He lifts his head and looks at his feet. He has been stripped naked, and his pants have been used to tie his ankles together. His belt is securing his bound legs to a heavy cabinet in the corner of the room. He is immobile.

"Mr. McKinnon, I see that you are finally awake," a female voice addresses him from outside his limited field of vision. "Welcome back."

Crap! What is this crazy bitch doing?

"How long have I been out?"

"Only about ten minutes. Just long enough for me to make some preparations."

"Preparations for what?"

"Your lesson."

"What lesson?"

"Mr. McKinnon, you have taken it upon yourself to instruct men on what you erroneously describe as the proper method of fucking so-called 'fat girls.' I'm afraid, however, that your qualifications for this undertaking are lacking. You see, despite your professed expertise, you have no idea how larger women want to be fucked. Specifically, you have no idea whatsoever how this woman of size likes to fuck. I'm here to educate you. I'm going to provide you a lesson that you will not soon forget. Best of all, I'm not even going to charge you $29.95. How great is that?"

"Look, I know you haven't had any cock in a while. If you want mine, all you have to do is ask for it. You don't need to roofie me and tie me up."

"Oh, I'm sure of that. If I wanted your dick, I could have it any time I wanted it. As a matter of fact, I could have just about any dick I want, any time I want. Men aren't particularly choosy when it comes to sex. That's pretty much the theme of your book, isn't it?"

"No. That's not it all."

"Sure it is, Mr. McKinnon. You believe that overweight women are easy prey, and all men have to do is lower their standards and they'll reap the fruits of these women's desperation. I'm here to demonstrate that you couldn't be more wrong. The lesson you're going to learn, Mr. McKinnon, is that the only way you are ever getting this pussy is on my terms–not yours. Pussy rules, Mr. McKinnon."

"Oh, just shut your fat mouth and let me go before I shove my foot a mile up your enormously fat ass. Someone will be in here any minute now, and we'll both look like fools."

"Not to worry. Opal has taped her last show from this location. Everyone's gone home. No other shows were taping in this studio. The cleaning crew will be in here sometime before dawn, but we have several hours until then. They won't even be on this floor until well after 2:00 a.m. We practically have the entire building to ourselves."

"How would you know all of that?"

"Do you think this is the first time I've been on this show? Please, Mr. McKinnon, please. Opal has me here at least once every six months. This was my eighth show in the last four years. I know the routine by now, believe me."

"Let me go, dammit!"

"In due time, I assure you. Now let's get started."

Shari unzips her dress and lets it fall to the floor. She is standing a few feet from Paul wearing only a light green bra that struggles to hold her full, pendulous breasts in place, and nude pantyhose stretched tight over a matching green thong. She tugs at the waistband of the pantyhose and pulls them past her ample ass. She bends at the waist and then pushes the pantyhose to the floor. Stepping on the crotch with her right foot, she pulls her left foot free. She then repeats the process with her other foot.

"Look at me, Mr. McKinnon. Look at my naked body. You can't wait to get your hands on these big, fluffy breasts. Your mouth is watering as you imagine my sweet, slippery, and very tight pussy sliding down your cock. Now look at yourself, you disgusting little troll–you're getting hard already. My voice is arousing you in ways that no one ever has before. Just thinking about what you want to do to my soft, curvy body is driving you nuts. You're humiliated, totally helpless, under my control, and yet your cock is standing straight up in the air. You are powerless."

"You're hot when you talk all sexy like that." Paul grins.

"You're pathetic."

"You want me."

"I'll decide what I want, and if it turns out to be you, you'll give yourself to me willingly and without hesitation."

"My cock's right here. Take it."

"Enough of your nonsense. It's time for your first lesson, Mr. McKinnon. The primary sexual organ is not in your pants. It's between your ears. Unlike your primitive mind that ignites at the mere hint of sex, mine has to be switched on and warmed up. Since your feeble brain is wholly inadequate for that task, I'm going to use the next available option."

Shari reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra. She tosses it on the sofa and steps toward Paul. She hefts her sagging breasts with both hands, pinches her tan-colored nipples, and steps over Paul's naked, extended torso.

Shari kneels on the floor with her thighs straddling Paul's head. She lowers her satin-covered crotch to his face and presses her naked butt cheeks against his skin. She feels his nose in the crack of her ass and wiggles it from side to side.

"Just as I expected," Shari chides Paul. "You're completely at my mercy, and yet your cock is hard as a rock. I'm using you for my pleasure, but your body responds as though it were expecting release. That's what the merest whiff of my pussy does to you."

Shari continues rubbing her cheeks and the fragrant crotch of her panties on Paul's nose, cheeks, chin, and forehead. She rocks side-to-side and then front-to-back. When she senses that Paul's oxygen supply is dwindling, she leans forward and allows him a gulp of air.

"You ..." Paul gasps. "You're ..."

"In control."

"... crazy."

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